


Name

by tinsnip



Category: Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Deep Dish Nine, Growing, Identity, M/M, learning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Garak" is his public name. Anyone may use it. But "Elim" belongs to him. At least... it used to.</p><p>Set in the alternate universe of Deep Dish Nine.</p><p>This work uses Lady Yate-Xel's Julian and Elim, and isn't part of their "canon"; it's just an idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Name

He’d forgotten what it felt like to own a name.

_“E. Garak? ‘E’? What does the ‘e’ stand for?”_

For so long, he’d travelled under aliases, slipped in and out of roles, been whoever the job needed him to be.

_“Elim? I rather like that! Why don’t you use it?”_

He’d left behind name after name, persona after persona, life after life.

_“Well, all right; I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to.”_

He’d ducked behind the backdrops, hidden himself behind the scenery, and the idea of being known and named had been anathema to him.

_“Thank you for tonight… Elim.”_

It would have meant discovery. It would have meant dishonour. It would have meant death.

**_Julian_b:  i think it’s a nice name garak – “elim” – better than subatoi :P_ **

The name he’d been given at his birth, he had willingly surrendered along with whoever he’d been. Neither had been required for his role as Cardassia’s hands, Cardassia’s eyes, Cardassia’s knife. They’d become a memory. Soon, they weren’t even that.

_“Gah! Elim – you surprised me! How did you sneak up on me like that?”_

But now he has no role. Now Cardassia does not want him. His eyes see only for himself, his hands do only what he asks, and his knife is tucked away in the same drawer that holds the pills that help him to forget.

_“Look, just sign the card, everybody signed the card, here, E-L-I-M G-A-R-A-K, was that so hard?”_

Who is he? He can’t remember.

_“Elim, I… can I tell you something? God, this is awkward – ”_

To own a name again… it was so strange.

_“My ‘boyfriend’... That sounds stupid. My… ‘partner’? God, I’ll just introduce you as Elim Garak, all right? Let them think what they like.”_

The first time he’d introduced himself with his own name, so long forgotten, his tongue had stumbled over the syllables; he’d felt as though he was telling an obvious lie.

_“Elim Garak, you are being a tremendous ass!”_

But everyone seemed to believe it.

_“No, I’m not angry… I’m just… Elim, I don’t know what to think. Just come sit with me.”_

He almost believes it himself.

_“ – oh – oh, Elim – please – ”  
_

The sound of it is still strange in his ears.

_“Elim, are you awake?”_

But slowly,

_“Elim, look at me.”_

bit by bit,

_“Elim, I love you.”_

he is starting to remember.


End file.
